


A Single Death Can Change Everything

by SecondToTheRight



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blink and You'll Miss It Ships, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7074796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondToTheRight/pseuds/SecondToTheRight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One death defined her. All the rest didn't matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Revelation

_Dr. Alfonso Rodriguez, forty-two years old, head of the neurology department at Numbani General Hospital._

_Typically arrives to work between 5 and 5:15 AM._

_By 5:30 AM he will be in his office, enjoying his coffee and standing within crosshairs._

_At 5:31 AM, he will have a bullet in his head._

Any other would have been vibrating in anticipation or shaking with nerves, but not her. Widowmaker closed her eyes and relished the moment. There was nothing quite like it, knowing exactly how everything would play out.

The air was still, the usually vibrant city only just starting to wake. From her vantage point, Widowmaker could see clearly through the glass building into his office. With multiple high-rises and balconies providing the necessary cover and exit routes, the assignment was almost too easy.

It disgusted her.

Worse, it bored her.

But the promise of a kill kept her attention in check. It had to be perfect. One shot to incite controlled chaos. Widowmaker allowed herself a predatory grin, the slow beating of her heart anchoring her excitement. Even as the minutes passed and the time neared, her aim remained steady. A perfect shot required patience, focus. The slightest distraction or tremor could delay her prey’s last breath. Once the trigger was pulled, her position would be compromised; she would only have seconds to escape undetected. If she were to miss… Widowmaker smirked at the thought.

She never wasted a bullet.

Ignoring the fleeting thought of a time-travelling pest and failed museum heist, she took note of the doctor’s arrival down below. Soon, she would have her kill. In the time he spent greeting his co-workers, making his coffee and riding the elevator to the 31st floor, Widowmaker looked over her rifle one final time. It was loaded and begging to be used. She leaned and peered through the rifle’s scope. A finger hovered over the trigger as she aimed at where Dr. Rodriguez would soon be.

Except he never came.

At first, she tried to disregard his tardiness. There were several possibilities as to why he had not yet entered his office. Still, her mind began to reevaluate the situation and the information she had gathered on her target. He mostly dealt with coma patients, so it would have been highly unlikely for one to be giving him trouble. Either luck was buying him time or she had been found out. Yet, the venom mine she had placed behind her earlier remained untouched. As the minutes dragged on and the office remained empty, she stepped back and brought her visor down.

Widowmaker scanned her surroundings for potential threats but could not find anything worth noting within her sights.

At least, not where she expected.

Exactly one floor below her target’s office, her visor locked on to the yellow outline of Dr. Rodriguez entering a room where another red figure lay immobile on a bed. He was visiting a patient she realized, lifting her visor. No matter. She readjusted her aim.

The room’s lights flickered on, giving her the view she needed to take the shot. All she had to do was pull the trigger.

Yet, something gave her pause.

Before her crosshairs could land on the doctor, her scope focused on the patient. She heard rather than felt all of her breath leave her. The slow, rhythmic heartbeat that once kept her steady had now become aggravatingly loud. Distracting. Part of her mind screamed at her to concentrate, but she was frozen, unable to comprehend what she saw. Each wave of shock that followed would be stronger than the last.

His cheeks were gaunt, his skin without any color, his black hair long and his beard unkempt. He was different, but his ears still stuck out, his nose slightly crooked. She knew that face, however many years it had been since she had last seen it. And for whatever reason, it _hurt_.

Her first kill had failed.

Gerard Lacroix was alive and she couldn’t breathe.

When she could, she did it too quickly. Her head ached, eyes watering from her unblinking stare. Yet, she couldn’t will herself to look away. How was this possible? She took a wobbly step backward as broken pieces of a past she never cared for prickled the edges of her mind. A name from long ago echoed silently in the empty air. Sharp pain pierced through her head as images of a sleeping face, a tightly clenched pillow, a convulsive body, flashed before her eyes. She had felt him die, forced his body still. She would have known if she had failed. How had she not known? Her hands began to tremble, her aim wavering.

Pathetic, she rebuked.

Maybe he was part of the mission, maybe this was a test, maybe he wasn’t real.

_Thank God, you’re alright._

It didn’t matter.

_Je t’aime._

He was nothing.

_Bonne nuit, Amélie_.

Just shoot them both.

The thought should have calmed her.

Instead, it made her sick.

She cringed at the sirens of an approaching ambulance, but they were enough to tear her eyes away from the unconscious man and notice her prey walking toward the door.

He was getting away.

Unnecessary thoughts and emotions were silenced as instinct took hold and gave her numbing peace. The sirens somewhat muted the sound of the rifle, glass shattering as Dr. Rodriguez dropped to the floor. Lacroix was next, every bit of her demanding she shoot. No one would know of her failure. The Widowmaker would stay true to her name. Gerard Lacroix needed to die for her to live.

And yet, her finger left the trigger.

She destroyed any trace of her presence and grappled away, leaving behind the chaos she had been tasked to incite. No more, no less.

All was normal when the Talon aircraft picked her up. She arrived late, but no one questioned her. They just dropped her off at her apartment with a new assignment in hand. She remained impassive all the way through.

Like always.

She finally succumbed to the hunger her body had disregarded up until that point, savoring the food she had prepared the previous night. She ignored the thundering beats in her chest, the ceaseless pounding in her head. She reeled in her wandering mind and lay to rest, purposefully at the center of a bed too big for one.

When Talon asked for the routine overview the following morning, Widowmaker would not voice what happened in Numbani. She would not mention the shock, the panic, the pain. She would not acknowledge to Talon nor herself the most terrifying revelation of all.

She got her kill, but no rush came.


	2. Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard Lacroix had survived and she needed to know how.
> 
> She was no closer to figuring that out, but he would not escape her again.

_Westley Barnes, fifty-five years old, Jamaican architect in charge of adapting Kingston’s infrastructure in order to accommodate both omnic and human populations._

One week after the events at Numbani, while Barnes was walking to his office, Widowmaker lodged a bullet in his throat.

_Works together with a non-profit organization on his spare time to refurbish homes of poverty-stricken families._

She spent that night alternating between emptying her stomach and restless sleep, images of blood sullying a dress shirt, spraying over the face of a bystander, on replay whenever she closed her eyes. When sleep was no longer an option, she removed sweat-drenched clothes and showered. She almost turned the water off in disbelief when she caught herself shivering and nearly scrubbed away a layer of skin trying to wipe away stains she couldn’t see but knew existed.

They used to fill her with pride.

Now, her stomach coiled at the thought of the deeds she had committed.

What was happening to her?

But she wouldn’t allow herself to answer that question. If she wasn’t on assignment, she focused most of her time on what she could control, understand. Gerard Lacroix had survived and she needed to know how.

She wouldn’t fail again; of that she was certain.

* * *

_Liliana Vargas, thirty-two years old, leader of the Venezuelan rebellion against its corrupt, authoritarian government._

Like her country, Widowmaker made Vargas’ heart bleed.

_Prime candidate to lead Venezuela into a new age of peace and prosperity if La Guerra del Bravo Pueblo is won._

She couldn’t ignore the unexpected impact of Maracaibo’s sweltering summer heat when she leaned heavily against abandoned rubble, faint and out of breath as she waited for the Talon aircraft. She could still hear the cries of despair, anger and confusion over the turmoil she had instigated in the distance. Each one made her flinch. Usually silent muscles were screaming under the weight of her rifle, her visor too tight for the oncoming migraine starting to make itself known.

Seventeen days since Numbani and she was only getting worse.

Widowmaker had considered informing Talon of her state. As humiliating as it would be to admit that her mental reconditioning was deteriorating, that she was… _feeling_ , Talon could easily wipe her clean. But broken memories, feelings, of excruciating pain, of someone begging for death, for her husband, kept Widowmaker from saying a word. She also couldn’t risk forgetting about Lacroix and all the articles, news coverage, and official documents that she had collected over his “death” in the weeks since finding him.

She was no closer to figuring out how he had lived, but he would not escape her again.

“No te muevas!”

She cursed under her breath before turning to see a young rebel pointing a pistol at her. He was young, probably placed the soot on his face on purpose to hide it. If he were smarter, he would have just shot her. His hesitance would be his undoing, since she could point and shoot faster than he could pull the trigger. The wall behind him was also sturdy enough to hold her grappling hook, which could give her enough momentum to close the distance between them. In the time their standoff began, she had already run through numerous possible kills. Her eyes narrowed as his gun began to quiver.

Before he could speak another word, she rolled to her right and sent her grappling hook his direction. He had fired where she had once been, but the recoil had loosened his grip so when the grappling hook took hold of the pistol, she didn’t need to pull hard to bring the gun back with it. The rebel raised his hands in surrender as the aircraft she had been waiting for came into view overhead.

Killing never stopped being easy.

And yet, she pointed the gun to his knee and fired.

He dropped to the floor as she unloaded the pistol and tossed it away.

“Next time, just shoot,” she said dryly.

She disregarded his whispered curses, walking to where the aircraft hovered. Landing in a warzone was not worth the risk, so she aimed her grappling hook and fired at the opening ramp. Once inside the empty cabin, once the darkness swallowed her, she looked down at her hands and wondered why the thought of killing him made them shake.  

She should take her own advice.

* * *

_Keiko Hino, thirty-six years old, mechatronics engineer travelling to Busan to propose new enhancements for South Korea’s MEKA program in one week’s time._

“Merde,” Widowmaker said to no one as she lay face down on one of the many tiled roofs of an unassuming Yokohama street. Once again, superfluous details about her target started to drip back into her mind, details that years ago wouldn’t have even registered when she skimmed over her target’s profile.

_Daughter of the late Shinji Hino, the politician who tried and failed to jumpstart Japan’s own omnic defense system._

What did it matter to her?

The shot was in place. Her rifle was propped up on the ledge, aim steady. A billboard on the building ahead gave her necessary cover, the market was busy enough that some might not even notice Hino hit the floor.

With her visor down she could pinpoint where Hino’s yellow figure was and when she would line up with her shot. Her grip tightened when she noticed the smaller red figure holding Hino’s hand.

_Single mother of two young girls._

The change was subtle, but since Numbani six weeks ago, Widowmaker had begun to notice it with growing frustration. Whenever she reached for the trigger, a war would break out within her. As if it weren’t hers to control, her body started to react to a murder she had yet to commit. Instead of an intoxicating high, she felt her stomach drop and her body stiffen, resist.

Any minute now, she would fire.

_Why?_

Her heartbeat turned painful.

She never bothered to ask why.

_Liliana Vargas, heart._

_Westley Barnes, throat._

_Alfonso Rodriguez, head._

Not once did she question the point of her assignments.

She never felt the need to.

Not when she was promised a hunt.

Her visor alerted her of the approaching target. The kill was easy. Her prey was all but caught. And yet, the methodical numbness she had come to rely on since Numbani never came. She was being forced to think when she never needed to and she couldn’t stop asking why.

Why did it matter to Talon if Keiko Hino lived or died?

Why did she care?

Something within her was fighting for her to listen.

As expected, Hino landed right in her line of sight. She only had seconds to fire. With moving targets, timing was everything. She had to fire the bullet at nothing and trust that her target would walk right into it. Hino would unknowingly step into her death.

One.

Two.

Widowmaker counted each heartbeat as Hino picked up her daughter and unsuspectingly distanced herself from danger. She would never know how close she had been.

As seconds turned into minutes, Widowmaker’s actions started to sink in. Most of her was disgusted by her inability to finish the job, but she was finally willing to admit that a smaller part of her was relieved, which only infuriated her more.

Talon would not be pleased.

It dawned on Widowmaker that she no longer cared, or rather she cared enough to not be affected.

However, the thought of the organization got her moving.

At the moment, Talon was unaware of what she had done. How odd. Her disobedience, her rejection, should have been bombastic. Instead, it was eerily quiet. For now, she was the only one that knew of her revolt but for how long? A panic from freedom, from the unknown, started to settle in.

She had made her choice.

Now she had to survive it.

She checked her ammo and grappled away.

* * *

“As you have probably heard, we have been pursuing her for the past two days now. Our trackers show she is in Tokyo but every team we send comes back with nothing or doesn’t come back at all.”

“That is your error. You underestimate the Widowmaker.”

“She is low on ammo, has no money, and can’t hide. And yet, here we are, asking the great Hanzo Shimada to bring her in. We created her. We know better than to underestimate her.”

Hanzo twirled an arrow between his fingers. His pause was only added for the sake of Talon. While he knew he would never agree to work for them, he knew better than to insult their offer.

“Unlike her, I refuse to be your puppet.”

“Even in exchange for this?”

An image appeared in the screen before him. The light’s change to a green hue made him look up. He frowned at what he saw.

“You knew,” he snarled.

“Yes,” the faceless voice said calmly. “And you will find an encrypted drive at these coordinates if you accept our offer. The drive has all the information we have on Genji Shimada. You may be intimately familiar with his antics while he was still part of the Shimada clan, but his heroics during the omnic crisis are quite a tale. Find her and we’ll give you the decryption key.”

Hanzo stared at the image of his brother, of what became of him, and sighed. No matter the circumstance, Genji still managed to force his hand.

“Dead or alive?”

“It doesn’t matter. We just want the body.”

“Understood.”   


	3. Assassin v Assassin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's get ready to rumbleeeeee!
> 
> Hanzo vs Widowmaker
> 
> Master Assassin vs Master Assassin
> 
> Who wins?
> 
> I decide!

Waterlogged from the pouring rain, her hair clung and pulled awkwardly against her back. She pulled on the popped collar of the black trench coat she had stolen, making sure it kept her face partly covered. A similarly acquired duffle bag was slung across her shoulder, occasionally disrupting the flow of sidewalk traffic when it bumped against unsuspecting pedestrians. Given the situation, Widowmaker would have preferred something that attracted less attention but she wasn’t in a position to be picky.

Anyone watching would pity her, thinking either bad luck or stupidity were the reason why she did not carry an umbrella in the middle of a typhoon. Thankfully, people were too busy keeping themselves dry to look.

The sheer force of the downpour made it difficult to see even a few steps ahead. It allowed Widowmaker to weave through the busy shopping district without detection, only breaking away from the mass of bodies into a darkened alley when she found what she was looking for: an open window ten floors up a high-rise. She preferred not to depend on human error, but she couldn’t risk alerting local authorities by breaking down doors or shattering windows.

She paused for a moment to relish the dropping temperature, her drenched state making it feel colder than it was. It was refreshing.

After a quick glance sideways, she grappled upward, raindrops turning into pellets as she zipped against the storm. Once inside, she paused for a moment. Drowning out all noise except for the occasional heartbeat, she listened for any indication of movement. With only silence responding, she allowed herself to breathe. Her eyes examined the large office space she found herself in, Ginza’s gaudy lights illuminating it from outside. Empty mugs, messy cubicles, multiple variations of annoyingly cheery cartoon characters encouraging her to get through the day.

If it weren’t for her exhaustion, she would grimace.

Widowmaker made her way to one of the large windows overseeing the district’s bustling streets below and sat beneath it. Talon had a tracker on her. She didn’t know if it was on her rifle, her visor, her own body or all three. It didn’t matter. The next wave of Talon agents was imminent; she wouldn’t risk making herself vulnerable to long-range attacks. If they wanted her, they would have to get close. She smiled, remembering what happened to those who had tried.

The thought also sent her a glaring reminder.

This time needed to be different.

Widowmaker reached for the duffle bag. She pulled out her rifle and checked its ammo.

30 bullets.

That was all she had left.

An image of Lacroix, unshaven and pale, lifeless but breathing, made her smack the compartment shut.

It had to be enough.

If she could get close enough to one of Talon’s aircraft, if her bullets could just last until she had disabled any possible threat on board. Then Numbani would be her final stop.

That last bullet was his.

Her desire to finish him was unparalleled. No prey was more enticing, more necessary. Killing Lacroix would make the headaches, the flashes, her annoying attachment to everything she killed disappear. The rush would return and all resistance within her would fade. Once he was handled, she would be free and Amelie Lacroix would finally die.

The rumble of Tokyo’s high-speed monorail speeding above her ripped her away from her thoughts. The Shimada clan may have shrouded Japan’s underground with fear, but at least to the ignorant public, they had provided Japan a smooth transition into the future by forcing it to quickly adapt to the rapidly advancing technology. They were also smart enough to not rely on omnics, so Japan left the war mostly unscathed.  

Given their influence, the clan had inadvertently shielded her from Talon. Talon couldn’t send many after her or they would risk starting a turf war they had no hope of winning. A perk of financing the renovations of Japan’s major cities was approving all the blueprints before anyone broke ground. In other words, the clan knew the battlefield better than anyone.

In Japan, a Shimada would always win.

That was when the first arrow hit, shattering the glass above her.

Widowmaker dove for the duffle bag, her visor covering her eyes as she put it on. In the fraction of a second it took for her to locate the culprit, multiple arrows were already inbound. She vaulted out of the building, still searching for the target as she fell. She didn’t worry about the growing street below, her visor locking onto a figure on an opposite building’s roof.

His mistake was wasting his first arrow.

Despite their distance and the darkness, she took note of his bow following her perfectly. He must have some form of tracking. One arrow came her way, then another. No problem. As she grappled to the roof, she countered the trail of arrows with bullets. Once she was on equal ground, she wasted no time. Before the assassin could release another arrow, Widowmaker had grappled onto the next building. She slid for cover when she landed, having created enough distance between them to retaliate properly. With each shot, she forced the assassin to move, directing him where she wanted him to go.

And yet, she knew better than to underestimate.

He was letting her have control.

“You have my attention, Shimada,” she goaded. “Tell me, how much was your honor worth? For what price did Talon convince you to come after me?”

“That is none of your concern,” he responded.

“Still using that old thing?” she asked, checking her gauntlet.

An arrow just barely grazed her arm, causing her to roll further back for cover. She hadn’t even seen him aim that time.

“I would wager on my bow against your rifle any day.”

She raised an eyebrow in amusement before jumping over the edge of the building.

Like she expected, her movements triggered him to act. His arrow, however, never got near her. In mid-jump, she ejected the last of her venom mines from her gauntlet to intercept the arrow, the mine bursting thick purple gas when the arrow crashed against it. 

* * *

The gas blinded Hanzo from seeing where Widowmaker had gone. He had inhaled enough of it to go into a coughing fit. By the time his eyes stopped watering, he could only react to Widowmaker swinging into him from behind, taking the full force of her kick.

Hanzo barely managed to evade a spray of bullets, forcing her to dodge an arrow before closing the distance between them. She countered his bow with her rifle, blocking his blows. One moment, he would find an opening and punch her stomach, leaving her gasping. The next, she would swipe his jaw with her elbow. He didn’t know who head-butted the other, but it left him dizzy and her nose bloody. Their duel didn’t want to end, but he saw its conclusion drawing near. Signs of her fatigue, of days filled with fighting, were starting to seep through. Her form was faltering and leaving her vulnerable.

Her death would be honorable.  

He would make sure of it.

The whine of triple-engine hoverjets made both of them pause. Hanzo turned to see multiple black jets only visible due to their red-tinted windows, Talon agents jumping out from their opening ramps down to roofs a few buildings away. But why? He was all but done.

Unlike him, Widowmaker was expecting Talon forcers.  _ He  _ was her surprise. She kicked him away, firing a quick spray to create space between them. Running backward, she aimed her grappling hook for its furthest range and fired.

Despite taking longer to recover, Hanzo was quick to get to his feet. He ran to a wall, using it to backflip into the air and get momentary height advantage. He shot an arrow at where her feet once were, watching it explode into smaller fragments.

Two hit their target.

The last thing he saw was her look in astonishment before she disappeared from his sight. He rushed to the edge, his job almost complete. Soon, he would have the information he sought. He breathed in deep, collecting all his energy for one final blow.

“ _ Ryuu ga _ -”

Hanzo stopped.

Widowmaker was nowhere to be seen. He quickly released a sonic arrow, but it picked up nothing except the frightened chaos of civilians below. Hanzo could unleash the dragons. Even in the largest of crowds, they would find her.

They also wouldn’t discriminate.

Those innocent lives were too high a cost. She knew that, which made him laugh.

The Widowmaker had more faith in his honor than he did.

He ignored the Talon agents that approached him. She was their problem now. He would find other means to decrypt his brother’s file.

* * *

She had lost track of time.

She just kept walking with the masses, all rushing to find some form of safety. Once again, everyone was too busy looking out for themselves to notice the blood staining her coat and her obvious limp.

One arrow fragment had lodged itself in her upper abdomen.

Another was jammed into her ankle. Thanks to robotics, that one didn’t hurt.

Widowmaker needed an escape. Talon’s patience would soon run out and when that happened, they would no longer care for the Shimada clan. Worse, the crude tactic of using innocents as a shield wouldn’t stop them. She could almost feel them watching, waiting to strike. How quickly had she become prey. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, a wave of vertigo coming over her as her head painfully throbbed. The longer she placed the lives of those around her in danger, the worse her migraine became. She tried not to cringe as she walked away from the crowd, each step leaving a trail of blood that was swiftly washed away by the rain.

She had almost missed it, was surprised she had found it without much effort. Japan’s rapid technological shifts meant that some things had to be left behind. Scattered throughout Tokyo were abandoned metro stations, only used by the occasional street vendor waiting out a storm or drunkard seeking quiet to sleep away their inebriation.

Widowmaker only made it halfway down the flight of stairs before falling to the floor. She leaned against a wall, catching her breath. She was losing too much blood. With every blink, it was getting harder to keep her eyes open.

A faint hum began to filter its way down to where she lay, growing louder with each second that passed.

Talon.

She cursed, finally out of ideas.

They would soon find her.

Gerard Lacroix was alive and she would forget.

Talon would connect her to those wires and lock her away. The pain would make her lose herself. Their machines would make her feel so intensely, she’d become numb just to survive.

Or maybe this time she would break.

Maybe this time, she couldn’t be fixed.

She hadn’t realized she had reached for her rifle, dragging it across the concrete floor until it was between her legs. She didn’t remember feeling her muscles cry out against the weight as she lifted it from one end, pressing its butt to the floor for balance. Nor did she remember resting her chin on barrel. But something within her was begging her to pull the trigger.

For once, Widowmaker listened.

_ Click _ .

She was out of bullets.

The humming had grown uncomfortably loud. They must be above her now.

She felt her face split into a grin.

It felt odd to lose.

As darkness enveloped her, she saw a flash of blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Hopefully the chapter length will make up for it! ^.^
> 
> As always, please take a minute to leave comments, criticism and/or questions down below!


	4. A Life is a Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How would you react if someone brought a stray assassin home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 2900 words OTL  
> Initially, certain sections were in italics, but for the sake of the reader's eyes, I was advised against it.  
> Anyway, please please please leave a comment below and who else in love with Ana Amari because I sure am.  
> Also, I commission an artist named Jel-Art to make a sketch for a future scene (way in the future), so if you want to be slightly spoiled check it out on my tumblr! I'll link it once the chapter it's scene is in comes out. Seriously it's a beautiful piece, check it out!  
> Huge thank you to @mylordsheisacactus for being a wonderful beta that I keep bothering too late at night.

Lena pulled on her collar, its tightness not helping her already uncomfortable state. Despite Winston’s tweaks, her back still ached from the additional weight of the chronal accelerator. The blooming thing also had a knack of drawing unwanted attention. Most of the time, she didn’t mind the stares. She even played the accelerator up if kids were watching; show them that it wasn’t scary. But in a high-brow gala, her accelerator’s gaudy appearance came second only to a gorilla failing to nonchalantly sip a glass of wine.

“It’s okay to breathe, y’know,” she said, hoping her smile wasn’t as stiff as she felt.

“Do I look alright? Athena suggested a bowtie but I couldn’t get the knot right,” Winston said. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a nervous habit Lena had been quick to pick up on during their first meeting.

“You look sharp,” she said, glad to see his posture relax slightly. At least one of them should have a good time.

“Thanks. I was- Is the accelerator bothering you again?”

Lena followed his gaze to find one of her hands trying to massage the opposite shoulder. She hadn’t even realized. She giggled nervously under his now accusing glare.

“Just need to build up the ol’ muscles, Winston. Nothing to worry about.”

“I could make some modifications. If I were to incorporate a more porous metal into the design, the harness could become lighter. Although, such an adjustment to the accelerator would come with certain risks. The metal would have to be strong enough to contain…”

Lena sighed, drowning out Winston as he started to look for a napkin and pen. Of course she would lose him to his mind. Only Athena could follow Winston’s jargon when inspiration struck him. She leaned against a railing, looking down at the posh crowd below. Not one friendly face in sight. Lena dropped her head into the crease of her elbow, groaning at her boredom. Not even alcohol could save her, since she had an early day tomorrow. And yet she couldn’t help but grin.

She was an Overwatch agent. She was now part of the organization that gave the world hope at its most desperate time. Sure, the way she had joined wasn’t how she had imagined; but when was anything ever? Legends, household names, people who dedicated their bodies and minds to protect the present and the future were all probably at this event. People whose heroics she  used to reenact with other kids in the schoolyard when she was younger. Heroes. She would become one too.

“ _Je ne parle pas anglais_.”

“Aw, c’mon. Don’t be like that.”

When has _that_ conversation ever ended well? Lena lifted her head and looked below, searching for the source. They weren’t hard to find. The hall was large enough, the music loud enough, for them to go unnoticed by most guests. But for those close to the two, they was getting harder to ignore. Clearly the woman wasn’t interested, already turning to walk away. Clearly, the guy couldn’t take a hint. He was closing in on her, reaching out to grab her. Lena was already vaulting over the rail, blink to the ground and forcing herself between them.

“Oi, I believe that translates to ‘bugger off.’”

If they weren’t before, the small crowd around them were definitely staring now. Had Lena not been puffing her chest and staring the man down despite her height disadvantage, her ears would have started burning red with embarrassment. The man’s expression was an ugly mix of bewilderment, offense and anger. Unlike Lena, however, the growing whispers were affecting him. He straightened his back, lifting his pointed nose high. As if his changed demeanor could turn the tables of their silent standoff, his eyes drifted down to her accelerator. His disgusted frown was not her first; it wasn’t any easier to take. Yet, it made her stand taller. This arse wasn’t worth the reaction. He looked behind her, huffed, and turned away. In seconds, he disappeared into the crowd.

Lena breathed out a sigh, her back starting to make its aches known again.

“ _Merci_ ,” said a voice from behind, making her turn.

If Lena’s ears weren’t red before, they certainly were now. The woman was gorgeous. The way her dress hugged her hips and cut down her back were almost inconsiderate to Lena’s heart rate. Her hair was pulled up into a high bun and her makeup had a dramatic flare, giving her a regal air. Her eyes, however, were warm.

“J-just doing what anyone else would. Sorry for making a scene,” Lena said, rubbing the back of her neck. “You probably didn’t even need my help.”

“He’s lucky you came when you did. I would have made his exit much more… let’s say memorable.”

That accent, that mischievous smile would end her.

“Champagne?” A waiter asked, appearing out of nowhere with a tray full of sparkling liquid gold.

“Yes, please,” Lena said immediately.

At times like this, alcohol was her greatest defense. Half the drink was in Lena’s mouth by the time the woman had picked up her own glass. Before she could swallow, however, Lena remembered that tomorrow was a work day and that she was a complete lightweight. She spit the champagne back into the glass without thinking. While her brain started to piece together what she had just done, the waiter looked horrified.

But the woman laughed, making Lena forget her mortification. All she wanted was to make the woman laugh again.

“Overwatch isn’t a fan of on-duty agents with hangovers,” Lena explained.

“So you are in Overwatch,” the woman said.

“Lena Oxton, at your service,” Lena said, striking a pose.

“Amélie Lacroix,” the woman said, sticking out her hand. Her crinkling eyes sent Lena’s heart into another frenzy.

“Lacroix?” Lena asked as she took her hand. “You’re in Overwatch too, yeah?”

The comment made Amélie falter slightly, a flash of pain crossing her face. It disappeared just as quickly, but her eyes now held a tinge of sadness.

“You’re thinking about my husband,” Amélie said, smiling weakly.

“Oh,” Lena said.  

Try as she might, Lena couldn’t hide her disappointment. The blush that had been calming down also returned in full force because she could have possibly hit on a future boss’ incredibly beautiful wife and if that wasn’t the start of a low-budget porno, she didn’t know what was. And from that thought came many inappropriate images she needed erased.

A soft cough brought her back to the present. Amélie was grinning in that way that made Lena’s stomach twist again, her eyebrows slightly raised as her eyes flicked downward.

Oh.

Lena was still shaking her hand.

Lovely.

“Well, it was a pleasure meeting you,” Lena said, each word coming out faster than the last. “Hope you come by the headquarters and visit sometime, the building itself is wonderous. But you probably know that. Anyway, bye!”

Lena blinked up to where Winston was furiously scribbling on a napkin, greeting him with a voice unnaturally high, even for her. Her sudden appearance surprised him, sending the pile of napkins next to him up into the air. As she apologized and helped him gather them, she took a quick look back to see Amélie shaking her head, laughing.

 

* * *

 

“And what do you think the UN will do when they find out we’re protecting a terrorist? Keep turning a blind eye? She isn’t worth it!” 

“So one life is no longer _worth_ saving?”

Sometimes, Fareeha Amari’s resemblance to her mother was uncanny. From her rigid posture to her unrelenting belief in what she thought was right, she commanded the same kind of respect and trust Lena had for Ana. Such a resemblance, however, also made their differences all the more stark. Fareeha was passionate where her mother was calm. She desperately sought to prove herself to others, seeking validation Ana never needed. Those differences were probably the reasons why she never liked talking about Ana. Yet, there was no denying that Fareeha loved her mother.

Which is why Lena was expecting this.

“She’s a criminal!”

“Last I checked, love, so were we.”

Both of them had been going at it since Lena, Hana and Winston had landed in Gibraltar. Angela hadn’t bothered to question why they had brought back Widowmaker when she saw the blood. She just led them to the clinic before pushing them out to get to work. Angela’s urgency should have terrified Lena, but Fareeha never gave her the chance to worry. She couldn’t blame her, really she couldn’t, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating.

“We should turn her in,” Fareeha repeated.

“How long d’ya think it’ll take Talon to get to her if we do? We might as well deliver her to them ourselves!”

There was a slight lull after that, the unusual quiet making the others in the room look to Fareeha. Her piercing eyes, which till then had never left Lena, now looked to the floor.

“Maybe we should,” she said softly.

“What?” Lena asked, eyes widening.

“Fareeha, what are you saying?” Winston asked, finally speaking up.

“Maybe she’s a trap,” a small voice answered.

Lena turned to Hana, who refused to meet her gaze.

“They could be tracking our location now,” Hana said with shrug.

“I shut down all the tracking devices on the flight here,” Winston said.

“That you know of,” Hana pointed out.

“Still, that wouldn’t explain why Talon risked exposure to find her,” Lena said. “She was on the run.”

“Which is exactly why we should give her back,” Fareeha said with more conviction. “Talon is familiar. We know what to expect when she’s with them. On her own, Widowmaker would be unpredictable and that makes her more dangerous.”

“You don’t get it,” Lena said, her frustration forming a knot in her throat. “This might be her only chance.”

Lena had only met Amélie Lacroix once. After a couple days, she had forgotten about their encounter, moved on. Only when word got out about what had happened had she remembered Amélie’s kind eyes. During her initial encounters with Widowmaker, Lena didn’t even realize who she used to be. It was when she got close enough, when she got her first taste of the cold, that it all fell into place.

She didn’t know if Amélie Lacroix was still alive, but she wouldn’t let her go until she did.

“I will not hesitate like she did.”

Pharah’s voice was thick, but did not waver.

Lena’s shoulders sagged. What could she say to that? That the person Lena brought here didn’t kill Ana Amari? That Amélie Lacroix wasn’t responsible? That even if Amélie Lacroix no longer existed, Widowmaker deserved their protection?

She should’ve said all those things.

She didn’t.

“Why do you think she hesitated in the first place?” said a voice from the clinic door.

Angela.

Lena hadn’t even noticed her enter. Angela looked exhausted. Small. Her frown was the only indication of frustration she hadn’t been allowed to show given the situation. Her eyes were distant, filled with pain and doubt. She looked as if she wanted to cave in on herself.  But she stood defiantly against Fareeha.

Because Angela Ziegler lost someone too.

To Lena, Amélie Lacroix was a stranger.

To Angela, Amélie was a dear friend.

 

* * *

 

Angela smiled, hearing the surprised yelp from Winston and the quick apology from Lena up above. Those two rarely made an occasion boring.

“I see you met our newest recruit,” she said, greeting her friend with kisses on both cheeks.

“Briefly,” said Amélie.

“I keep warning her that if she blinks too much, she’ll miss out on what’s in front of her,” said Angela in fond exasperation.

“The _traceur_ is young,” Amélie observed.

“Too young,” said Angela, already feeling the crease between her eyebrows.

“You look tired,” said Amélie, her concern clear. She reached out to brush away a stray strand of hair that probably escaped Angela’s pin in her rush out of the office.

“As do you,” Angela replied with equal concern.

“Well, I do have a show opening in a week.”

“Nervous?” Angela teased.

“Of course,” Amélie laughed. “I wouldn’t be human if I weren’t.”

Amélie’s excitement for the production was infectious. Angela would be there opening night of course, which is why Amélie refused to give her any details. She always offered Angela respite from her stressful day, scolded her when she overworked, yet still brought her coffee to get through it. It felt nice being Amélie’s support for once.

“Where’s Gerard?” Angela asked, immediately wishing she hadn’t when Amélie’s expression darkened.

“Where do you think?” said Amélie, motioning her champagne glass to an outdoor balcony.

Through the glass door, Angela could see Gerard having a heated debate with Gabriel Reyes. Or rather, Gerard was refusing to let an uninterested Gabriel leave until he listened to his case. Jack Morrison and Ana Amari were standing silently at their sides. Ana noticed the sudden attention and sent an apologetic wave.

“He must be close to a breakthrough,” Angela commented, nodding back.

“I know,” Amélie sighed. “And I can’t fault him for bringing the work home. Girls keep disappearing on his watch, who wouldn’t be haunted by that. It’s just hard to talk to him lately. Especially over some silly ballet.”

Angela gave Amélie’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“What is it?” she said, knowing Amélie wasn’t done.

“Sometimes,” she began, struggling to find the words. “I wish he would realize that he can’t save everyone.”

Those words weren’t only meant for Gerard. Not for the first time, Angela felt guilty for depending on Amélie so much. But that was why both of them had joined Overwatch.

“We have to try.”

 

* * *

 

Angela pinched the bridge of her nose.

She woke up to Athena calling her to the docking bay. An emergency. On her way down, she ran through every possible scenario. Did Lena’s accelerator malfunction? Had Winston finally taken too much damage? What would she tell Hana’s parents if something had happened to her? What type of blood would she need? Which did she even have?

When Winston contacted her about restarting Overwatch, she was packing for Russia. She almost declined his offer, believing she was needed in the battleground of the latest Omnic attack. But she knew he would go through with it without her. That one day, he and whoever else joined him would be overwhelmed. They would make a mistake and she would have to attend another funeral of someone gone too soon. It was why she didn’t hesitate reuniting with him and Lena. And when they looked for recruits, she suggested Fareeha Amari. They would need the best.

Yet, she didn’t share Winston’s hope and Lena’s optimism. Overwatch would never be what it once was. Part of her was glad for that. She was here to keep her friends alive.

And they seemed determined to make her fail. In the split second she had had in the hangar after seeing the three of them safe and healthy, before she had noticed the blue body in Winston’s arms, the puddle of red at his feet, one furious question had crossed her mind: Where had they been?

Now, she was too tired to be angry. She couldn’t even act surprised.

They were picking up supplies in Hong Kong when they got the alert about the disturbance in Tokyo. Of course they decided to go help. There was no time to call for backup.

After years of extensive research, Dr. Angela Ziegler at last could conclude that heroes were suicidal.

“I wish you would have discussed this with me. Sent a message, anything. For Overwatch to work, we cannot have secrets,” she said.

“And had we known-” Winston began.

“You still would have gone through with it,” Angela interrupted with a weary smile. She needed coffee. “What are we going to do? We’re already low on supplies.”

“Leave that to me. Athena is checking the usual channels, someone will turn up.”

Sometimes, Winston said things with such certainty that she couldn’t help but believe him.

“And what do we do with _her_?” asked Fareeha.

Fareeha had been quiet since Angela returned. She refused to look at anyone, probably too lost in her own mental debate to notice. Angela’s heart ached for her. She wanted to comfort her, make that haunted look disappear. But Angela chose her side. She just hoped Fareeha would forgive her in the end.

“Unlike the body, the mind cannot be not so easily fixed. Even in a world where sentient robots exist, we have yet to figure out how the mind truly works,” said Angela.

“You’re afraid you can’t help her,” said Winston.

From the corner of her eye, Angela saw Lena pick up her head from the chair she was curled up in. It made what she said next that much harder.

“No. I fear she won’t want me to."

“Why don’t we ask her?” Hana said, popping a bubble of gum as she skimmed through Widowmaker’s dossier on her tablet. How she had gotten hold of old Overwatch files was a question for another day.

“Hana’s right,” said Winston. “Based on what we saw in Tokyo, Talon will tear cities apart if they believe she’s there. Right now, the safest course of action is to keep Widowmaker under our watch. If we can convince her to talk, then we can decide what to do next.”

“And how will we do either of those things?” Angela asked.

“I have no idea.”

Suddenly, Athena’s voice filled the room.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but it appears Widowmaker is waking up.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please, please, please leave comments/questions below!
> 
> Seriously, I should be spending this time playing Overwatch and getting better but this story has been in my head for way too long! I'll try and update as quickly as I can! The story is all plotted out, but life you know?
> 
> A huge thank you to mylordshesacactus for being a McCree-level BAMF of a beta! Check out their stories, they are awesome!


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